by Debby Mayne
Priscilla doesn’t say a word, but I can’t say I blame her. After my tirade, what can she say?
“Look, I’m sorry about that, Priscilla,” I say, even though I’m not so sure I really am sorry. It just seems like the right thing to do right now. “I didn’t mean to ruin the party for you.”
She smiles at me. “I’ll see you in the morning at ten.” Then she walks away, leaving me standing there, wanting to give myself a swift kick in the behind. I know I’m right, but I need to keep some of my thoughts to myself.
The next couple of hours drag by, but the time to put out the fire and clean up has finally arrived. Jimmy and Celeste start gathering the paper and other trash on the ground, while I try to deal with Pete. Since most of the people who drank beer stopped early so they could drive, there’s still quite a bit left in the keg. My husband seems to think it’s his duty to finish it off, but I can’t let him.
“We need to shut down this party and go home,” I say as I tug at his arm.
He yanks away from me. “Not yet. There’s still some beer left.”
“You can finish it later,” I say, knowing the people who delivered the keg will come back to pick it up first thing in the morning.
“Can I take it home with me?”
Jimmy comes to my rescue. “I’ll get the beer company to deliver it to your house, Pete. It’s time to leave now.”
“But . . .” Pete looks around and sees that there are only a few people left. “Okay, where’s my keys?” He reaches into his pocket and discovers they’re empty. “Did you take my keys?” he asks.
“You gave ’em to me.”
“I want ’em back. How d’you expect me to get home?”
“I’m driving,” I say.
“Oh no. Ain’t nobody drivin’ my truck but me.”
“I’m not about to let you drive in this condition.” I glance over at Jimmy and nod. Fortunately, Jimmy is a tad bigger and stronger than my husband, and even more coordinated now that Pete’s so smashed.
At first, he tries to put Pete in the cab of the truck, but it’s obvious I’ll have a fight on my hands, making it unsafe to drive. “Go ahead and get in the truck,” Jimmy tells me. “I’ll put him in the back.”
“How—?”
“Just do it,” he says.
The next few minutes are loud and frustrating, but as soon as I hear Jimmy say, “Gun it, Laura.” I take off, with Pete banging on the rear window, demanding I stop and let him in. My heart aches for what we’ve become, but it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it now.
He calms down a bit once we hit the main road, so I think I’ve got smooth sailing. Then that swirling blue light shows up in my rearview mirror, and my heart sinks.
I pull over to the shoulder and sit there with both hands on the steering wheel. I can hear Pete cussin’ and rantin’ as the police officer walks toward us. I want to jump out of the truck and run toward the dark forest that seems much safer than where I am now.
“Hey, Ms. Moss,” I hear. “Looks like you got your hands full.”
I blink as I look into the eyes of Patrick Moody, a boy I used to babysit. Now he’s one of Piney Point’s finest, but I still can’t see past his boyish dimples and unruly hair.
“Yeah, I do. Was I speeding?”
“Nah, I just happened to notice Mr. Moss’s truck goin’ by, and he was standin’ in the back pounding on the window. I thought I’d investigate.”
“I have to get him home before he jumps out,” I say.
Patrick leans back and looks in the bed of the truck before flashing one of his cute little grins that always won him more candy and another bedtime story before I tucked him in. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “Looks like he’s sound asleep.”
I glance over my shoulder and look through the window. Pete’s curled up in the corner of the truck bed, his hands tucked beneath his face.
“Well I’ll be.”
“You better get him home fast. He’ll get a crick in his neck if he stays like that too long.” He scratches his head before adding, “It’s normally not safe to ride in the back of a truck, but given the circumstances, I think it’s probably the best option, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Okay, see ya,” I say as I pull back on to the road. I let out a deep sigh as I head home. This is one night I’ll never forget—but I sure would like to.
31
Priscilla
Honestly, last night wasn’t very fun—just a bunch of people who remind me why I haven’t stayed in touch with them. I felt slightly awkward all night. I kept hoping Maurice Haverty, the guy I had a crush on since the beginning of high school would show up, but that never happened.
Good thing I have back-to-back appointments all day to keep me from wallowing in memories. I’ve been hearing quite a few people say they wish I’d come back to Piney Point and do hair. Sheila says if I do that, we’ll become almost as famous as that big salon in the mall out by the Interstate in Hattiesburg. I don’t tell her that my ultimate dream to get some of my products on TVNS will take us to a place she hasn’t yet imagined.
By the time Laura walks into the salon for her complimentary appointment, I’ve relaxed a bit and gotten into the groove of the day. All our clients are talking about the reunion bash tonight, so it’s impossible not to be excited. Everyone gasps as they see Laura settle into the chair in my station.
I avoid mentioning her red eyes and swollen face because I have a pretty good idea what happened. Pete made a royal idiot of himself last night, but it came as no surprise to anyone since he’s always done that.
“Looks like all your planning is paying off,” I say. “The bonfire was a great success.”
“It was?” Our gazes lock in the mirror, and she blinks. “I mean, yeah, it did look like folks was . . . were having a good time.”
“I know you must be feeling the pressure,” I say, “but yes, people have been talking about it this morning.”
She sighs. “Good.”
After I get the color on her hair, I walk her to the manicure table. “I’m just going to do a basic manicure, so I thought we could do it while the color processes. We don’t have long.”
When I finish with Laura, she looks much more relaxed. Chester makes a big deal about how great she looks.
“If you weren’t married, and I didn’t have other plans, I’d want to take you to the reunion,” he says. “You look fabulous, Laura.”
I want to tell him to stop now. He’s already taken the compliments too far, and it’s obvious he’s just trying to sell her on what I just did.
She gives him a confused look then turns to me with a questioning glance. I shrug. “I bet all the guys will wish they’d gotten to know you better.”
Laura offers to pay, although I know she couldn’t even if I let her, but she has her pride. She holds her head high as she struts out of the salon.
“Good job, Priscilla,” Chester says. “Every time you come back to Piney Point and work in the salon, I get inspired.” He shivers and rubs his arms.
“Goosebumps?” I ask.
He grins and nods. “You took Laura from frumpy hausfrau to almost glamorous.”
I blow on my nails, rub them on my shoulder, and give him a teasing wink.
Chester nods toward the door. “Time for you to work some more magic. Your next client is here.”
I have a couple of cut-and-blow-dry appointments. I hold my breath waiting for the next disaster, but fortunately, everything moves along without a hitch.
“Ready for your do?” Sheila asks as she pulls a fresh smock from the stack and shakes it out. It’s late afternoon. “C’mon, Priscilla, it’s your turn.”
I reluctantly get into her chair, but once she gets started, I have to admit, it does feel mighty good to have someone else working on my hair. “I want to keep it simple,” I tell her.
“But with some height, right?”
“Of course,” I say. “That’s why I brought this.” I
hand her a device she can use to boost my hair at the crown without having to tease it so much.
As she works it into my hair, she comments, “Ya know, Priscilla, this is a nifty little gadget. You might wanna think about getting a patent and selling it.”
I smile. She obviously doesn’t know I’ve already started working on it. Since I haven’t finished my business plan yet, I don’t tell her more than she needs to know.
By the time I walk out of the salon, I barely have an hour to get dressed and ready for the big party in the high school gym. Laura wanted the committee there early to set up the tables and chairs. I wound up paying the school janitor and some of his pals to do it out of my own pocket. Laura has no idea how much I paid, or she would have tried to talk me out of it.
Since my hair is done, it won’t take me long to get ready, so I decide to spend a little time with my parents before I change. Dad is in the living room reading, and all he does is grunt when I try to talk to him. He’s been like that since I’ve been home, and I wonder if it’s his way of avoiding mother while still being physically present. He doesn’t bother to look up as I walk out of the room.
Mother’s sitting at the kitchen table, her head bent over a magazine. I notice a wide line of gray along her part, showing that she has attempted to color her hair. I cringe at the mousy brown color she selected. As I walk around behind her, I see that her hair is too long in some places, and whatever style she might have had once has been replaced by straggly ends and a feeble attempt at managing it. My breath catches in my throat as I realize that she hasn’t had a good haircut in a very long time. I pull out a chair and sit down across from her.
She glances up. “What?” Her frown causes me to lean away from her. “Why are you staring at me?” She looks back down at her magazine.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale before blurting, “Would you let me cut your hair, Mother?”
Her head jerks up. “What in the world for?”
“Because I’d like to.” I stand up and walk around behind her, lightly touching her hair. “I can cut your hair to make it more stylish and more flattering.”
“My hair cut’s good enough. Looks are not what counts; you know that.”
I start to sigh, but cut it off. That’s too much like our conversations went when I was in high school. “You haven’t changed your hair style since I was in sixth grade,” I say. “I’d like to freshen it up.”
“So I don’t look good enough for you, Ms. Priss? You know I’m not into trends.”
“It’s not that—”
“I’m not fashionable enough for you?” She stands up and goes to the sink, looking affronted. I notice the rumpled back of the top she’s had for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t flattering years ago, and now it makes her look downright dowdy.
Now that I’ve already upset her, I figure I might as well continue. “I’d love to freshen your wardrobe too,” I say, smiling. “All that navy and khaki washes you out. With your skin color—”
“My clothes are professional.” She begins to run the water, turning her back to me. Dishes rattle in the sink. She lays a cup in the dish rack on the counter, then a handful of silverware.
“Maybe so, but I think you’d be lovely in color, real color—”
“So you’re the expert?”
I can tell she’s hurt, but it seems too late to stop now. “Well, yes, Mother. This is what I’m good at. It’s what I do.” I walk over to the sink too. “I want to help.”
“You can’t help me! No one can help me!” I think her outburst shocks her as much as it does me. Tears spring to her eyes and she swipes at them with the back of her hand.
“Of course I can,” I say. “Wait, you’ll see.” I scamper back upstairs and grab the beauty pouch I always travel with. I’m so glad I remembered to pack it before I left Jackson. It has all the essentials for an emergency touch-up—color, processing solution, hair shears, and other items I sometimes need.
When I return to the kitchen, Mother is hunched over the dirty dishes.
“Come sit down, Mother.”
She looks at the bag in my hand. “What’s that?”
“Hair supplies and products.” I open the top and show her the contents. “I usually mix dark and light blonde for myself, but I’m thinking the dark blonde by itself would look good on you.”
She shakes her head and goes back to scrubbing a dish. “You have a reunion to go to. You go on. We can do this some other time.”
I reach around her and turn the water off. “I think now is the perfect time. The reunion can wait. Please let me do this for my favorite mother,” I say, and she smiles warily as I lead her to the table. “Do you still keep the old towels in the laundry room?”
“Yes, over the dryer.”
“Be right back.” I go into the laundry room, grab a handful of old towels, and go back into the kitchen. I’m relieved she’s still sitting in the chair.
She frowns as she watches me mix the color with the processing agent. “What’s that?”
“It helps your hair absorb your color.”
Now that I’m doing something I’m comfortable with, our roles have reversed. I’m in charge, and Mother has to rely on me to do the right thing. And I take that very seriously as I carefully make sure every hair on her head is covered with the coloring solution.
Soon we are waiting for her color to process, sitting together at the kitchen table. At some point I hear the doorbell ring, but since my dad is in the living room, I let him answer it. I know it’s Tim, because I can hear the men talking.
“I hate making you late for your reunion,” Mother says, her eyes still misty.
I’m about to tell her she’s much more important than my reunion, but Tim appears at the door. His eyebrows shoot up, but he gets the picture, smiles, gives me a thumbs-up, and backs away. Tim might not have the best vocabulary in the world, but he’s one of the smartest men I know.
“It is very difficult to get old,” my mother says when we’re alone again. She doesn’t look up. “No one says these things, but it’s true. Your body begins to give out in little ways you don’t notice at first. Your hair gets gray”—she glances at me ruefully—“and thin, while your body spreads.” She lifts her arm and points to her bicep. “Skin gets loose and jiggly. One day you look at yourself in the mirror and wonder who that old woman is staring back. Or that old man you’re living with. And your child grows up and lives her own life.”
I put my hand on her shoulder.
“I know I’ve been difficult . . . well, I haven’t always been supportive of your goals . . .” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head.
“Let’s rinse this color out,” I say.
Mother walks to the sink and leans over it, while I let the warm water spray over her head. When it runs clear, I blot her hair and wrap a towel around it. “You are going to look stunning,” I say. I can’t help myself.
My mother sits down at the table again, and I gently place my hands on her head for a moment before I begin to cut. I close my eyes and breathe a silent prayer. Her hair has thinned, so I concentrate on making it look healthy. I give her a short, blunt cut in back and wispy bangs in front.
“I’ll teach you how to use products to achieve more volume on top,” I say. “But you look absolutely beautiful now.” I dig around in the bag and pull out a handheld mirror. “Take a look.”
She glances in the mirror and blinks. I walk around in front of her and lean over.
“Well?” I ask.
She puts down the mirror and looks up at me with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I–I don’t know what to say.”
I pick the mirror back up and put it in front of her face. “Just say ‘hello, gorgeous.’ ”
The preparty is almost over by the time Tim and I get there. When we walk in, I see Pete Moss downing one of the four beers lined up in front of him, while Laura hovers over him looking like an angry mom. I can’t say I blame her.
“
They’re givin’ us two-fers,” Pete hollers. “But you gotta order now before the end of the hour.”
I look at Tim, and he shakes his head. “I think we’ll pass,” I say. “We just wanted to stop by for a few minutes to see how everything is going.”
The scowl never leaves Laura’s face as she keeps glancing at her watch. I understand her dilemma. She’s in charge of the reunion, but she doesn’t want to leave her husband to drive to the party with all that booze in him.
I walk up to her and whisper. “Do you need to go to the school now? Tim and I can take care of Pete.”
Her eyes dart around the room before settling on me. “You’d really do that for me?”
I nod. “Yes, of course I would. I don’t want anything happening to Pete or anyone else for that matter. Just go, and we’ll make sure he doesn’t get behind the wheel.”
Laura tells Pete she’s going on ahead. He nods and tells her not to let the door hit her in the backside. Then she makes the huge mistake of telling him she’s taking the keys to his truck. His eyes widen with rage.
“You will not drive my truck,” he growls.
She dangles the keys that she somehow extracted from his pocket without him noticing. “I never said I was gonna drive your stupid truck. I just said I was takin’ your keys.” She turns to Celeste who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. “C’mon, Celeste, let’s go.”
After Laura and Celeste leave, I lean over and look out the window as they part ways—Celeste going to her station wagon and Laura unlocking the door of Pete’s truck. Maybe Laura never said she was gonna drive Pete’s stupid truck, but she never said she wasn’t going to drive it either.
The last place I want to be is here watching Pete Moss get drunk, but I did promise Laura. Tim is being a trooper by hanging in there with me and chatting with Pete, most likely hoping to keep his mouth talking to slow down the drinking. Finally, Pete stands up, stretches, and announces that it’s time to move the party over to the school gym.
